


A Time of Innocence

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-13
Updated: 2005-07-13
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:10:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: none





	1. part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

**Notes** : originally published in THE BIG B7 ZINE (1993)

 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Carefully, the boy made his way toward the exit hatch. Extensive exploration of the dome had revealed many hidden facets of his home. When he and his friends had discovered the exit on the maintenance level, he'd filed the information away, knowing it would prove useful one day. Not that he'd really expected to use the door...certainly not so soon.

 

It was the height of sentimentality, he knew; but Alfred deserved a proper burial. Outside, where his life should have been lived. Free, as an animal should be, not contained in the dome...never to have felt real sunlight on his soft gray back. Vila felt that this was the least he could do for his pet rabbit; in death, Alfred would rest forever outside, under the sun's warmth.

 

Concentrating fiercely on the locked door, he failed to hear light footsteps behind him.

 

"Need any help?"

 

Vila yelped, turning to face the person behind. In his haste, he dropped the box he'd carried so carefully.

 

"You! Look what you made me do. Don't you know better than to sneak up on a person that way?" Surprised fear evolved into righteous indignation as he beheld his friend, Roj, looking rather sheepish. "You shouldn't scare me like that, I might hurt you before I recognize you." Huffily, Vila picked up the box holding Alfred's remains. "As long as you're here, you can help. Keep an eye out while I open this door."

 

"Okay, Vila." Roj held out his hands. "Let me hold the box, then you can open the door faster."

 

Hesitating, Vila looked from the box to Roj. "Well, all right.... You just be careful with it. Alfred's in there."

 

"Yeah, I know. You mother told me. I thought you wouldn't mind some company." Shyly, Roj smiled at his friend.

 

"I guess it's okay. You knew him too." Vila didn't want to admit that he rather feared going outside of the dome by himself. No one, at least no one he knew, ever went outside. If someone had to go with him, he was glad it was Roj. Their other friend, Kerr, would almost certainly tell Vila he was a fool and head back to the Alpha level. Besides, Kerr had never liked Alfred. On the few occasions that Alfred had approached him, he'd always pushed the little creature away. Although, Vila had noticed that Kerr's hand always lingered longer than necessary on Alfred's soft fur.

 

Vila opened the door, and the two boys headed out into the unknown. Swiftly, they moved across the open space between the dome and a stand of trees. Vila scouted about, finally settling on a spot overlooking a lovely field. He dug a shallow grave while Roj looked on. The older boy seemed to understand that Vila needed to do this himself.

 

When Vila held out his hands for the box, Roj passed it to him and backed away. He wandered in a tight circle, keeping Vila in view. He watched as the box was laid in the grave and covered with dirt. When Vila, kneeling beside the grave, bent his head to hide tears, Roj walked over to him.

 

"It's okay to cry, Vila. I won't tell anyone." Gently, he laid a hand on Vila's shoulder.

 

For a time, the two boys knelt beside each other, Vila sniffling quietly, as silent tears ran down his cheeks.

 

"I never had a pet, myself. Wish I had...you're lucky."

 

"Yeah, lucky." Vila rose, wiping his face on his sleeve. "I s'pose you're right. He was a good pet. I'll miss him."

 

"Will you get another?" Roj sounded hopeful. His parents would never allow him a pet, but they couldn't stop him from enjoying others' animals. Well...really, Vila was the only person he'd ever known to have an actual animal of his own.

 

"Nah, my father says I'm too old now. Ten next year, y'know."

 

Roj smiled. Vila, as the youngest in their small circle of friends, was always in a hurry to grow up. He thought of Vila as a sort of younger brother, something he'd never had. But Roj observed carefully and had caught Kerr watching Vila indulgently, more than once. It seemed the younger boy had a charm that touched even the most carefully guarded heart.

 

The third member of their circle was a bit of a mystery. He never talked about himself...they'd never even been to his home. Roj knew that Kerr had an older brother, only because his own sister attended school with Kai Avon. Roj couldn't help being fascinated by the other boy. He just couldn't resist a challenge. And, Kerr was definitely that. An Elite, he shouldn't even be associating with Roj and Vila, Alphas both. Yet, the quiet boy always seemed to turn up when he and Vila got together. The snide comments had been bothersome at first; now they were expected. Missed even, when Kerr wasn't with them. Vila in particular, seemed to enjoy the spirited discussions he and Kerr often indulged in.

 

"C'mon, Vila." Roj threw an arm across the smaller boy's shoulder. "Let's head in. It's getting late."

 

They started back to the dome, walking slowly. Suddenly, Roj gasped and drew back, pulling Vila down behind a large bush.

 

"Sssh, someone is there," he cautioned, craning his neck to get a clear look at the intruder. With a sigh of relief, Roj rose to his feet, pulling Vila up with him. "It's Kerr," he explained.

 

Kerr walked over to join them. "I had a feeling you two idiots would be out here. We have to go in; security is searching for some crim. They'll close of f all levels soon, maintenance first. Come on." He turned and walked back the way he'd come. He didn't bother to look back, apparently assuming they would follow.

 

They did.

 

Roj entered the dome first and turned to wait for the others. He heard a soft voice: "Vila, I spoke with your mother. I'm sorry about Alfred."

 

"Thanks, Kerr." Vila's response was equally soft.

 

Roj beat a hasty retreat before Kerr could catch him listening. When the other two came through the door, he was the picture of innocence. They'd never know he'd heard the quiet exchange.

 

"All right, let's get to our level." A slight smile played about his mouth as he turned to Vila. "Don't you have an exam in comp science tomorrow?" He grinned openly when an expression of total panic appeared on Vila's face.

 

"Oh no," moaned Vila, "I forgot." He turned to Kerr. "I'll never pass...I didn't study at all. What am I gonna do?" he wailed.

 

"Hush, fool. I'll help you. This time. You simply must learn to study on your own, Vila. I won't be here to bail you out forever, you know." Kerr crossed his arms, looking stern as only he could.

 

"Come on you two," Roj urged. "I'll help too. I don't know computers the way you do," he indicated Kerr with a nod of his curly head, "but I'm sure I can help Vila to understand what you're trying to tell him, Kerr."

 

Kerr agreed, and the three boys headed on to Vila's home, as usual.

 

#

Vila grimaced and rose to his feet, consciously shaking off the memories. He seldom thought about his childhood, or of the friends he'd cherished. Hard to believe that he'd ever called either of them friend. And they had called him friend, too. So very long ago.

 

Twenty-five years. Poor old Alfred had been laid to rest on this day, a quarter of a century ago. Vila smiled gently at the thought. He supposed he could allow himself to examine those long buried memories, for a while anyway. It would have been nice though, to talk to Roj or Kerr again...he missed their friendship. Oh well, sometimes the past could be a nice vacation spot.

 

Sometimes, it was the only place he could bear to be.

 

Avon came on the flight deck, earlier than usual, to relieve him. Vila didn't question, he simply left. No sense taking chances...when he got melancholy, it was best to be alone. He might slip and say something he shouldn't. He'd never broached the subject of their common past, figuring that if Avon did remember, it would be best to let him bring up the subject himself. Vila had a feeling that it would never happen. In many ways, Avon hadn't changed; like Kerr, he never spoke of himself, or his past.

 

He approached his quarters, still lost in memory. Glancing up, he saw Blake disappear around the corner ahead. Odd. What was the man doing, he wondered. No matter. Vila shrugged philosophically; whatever their fearless leader was up to, it wasn't his concern. He entered his cabin.

 

A large box with holes punched in its top sat upon his bunk. Cautiously, Vila walked over and examined the package. It seemed fairly innocuous. He carefully opened it and peered in.

 

"Hullo," he greeted, as he lifted the small bundle. "What's this, then?"

 

Upon close examination, Vila saw a small metal tag attached to the collar around the creature's neck. He lifted the baby rabbit closer, staring at the disc. His eyes misted over as he read the inscribed words:

 

ALFRED II


	2. part 2 A Small Circle of Friends

**Notes** : originally published in THE BIG B7 ZINE (1993)

 

 

* * * * * * * 

"Avon, I need to speak with you."

 

The urgently spoken words warned him just in time. Moving quickly, Vila ducked behind a nearby storage container. Tension screamed within him as he watched Avon stiffen and turn to meet Blake.

 

"What do you want, Blake?" Avon sneered.

 

Vila sank further down, wishing he could disappear. This was not how it should be. These two men had been his best friends at one time. What had happened to the three boys he remembered so well?

 

#

 

No...It just wasn't right! He or Roj always won the award for best overall academic achievement. In the last five years, Roj had won the award twice, Vila three times. As usual, the two boys had won in their best individual categories; Vila for computer science and Roj for maths. They'd been playfully glaring at each other, waiting for the overall winner to be announced. Not that they really meant anything by it; as long as one of them won, their collective honor remained intact. Everyone in the nine to twelve age group gasped when the name was announced....

 

"Kerr Avon."

A slight, dark eyed boy rose and slowly made his way to the stage. Vila recognized the new kid he'd seen in programming class. Watching closely, Vila saw the nervous shifting of Kerr's eyes. Felt Roj start forward, when the boy stumbled slightly on the stairway leading up to the stage.

Something told him that an open offer of help would not be accepted by this proudly quiet boy. He laid a restraining hand on Roj's arm, then leaned forward to offer a congratulatory handshake to Kerr.

"Just imagine them with no clothes on." Vila grinned wickedly as he passed on his favorite way of handling stage fright.

"Yeah...think of old 'Cow' Carruthers naked!" Roj elaborated, with an exaggerated shiver of horror.

Confidence restored by the unexpected support, Kerr walked calmly over to the podium and accepted his award.

 

#

 

Vila rose from his hiding place in the cargo area and cautiously looked around. All clear. With a sigh of relief, he opened the case of Taurian Brandy he'd secreted behind Avon's precious computer components.

 

Swiftly, he left the lower decks, two bottles of fine liquor secreted in his clothing. He definitely needed a couple of drinks. The fighting had escalated between Blake and Avon recently. It was worse than ever. And it upset him more every time they started in on each other.

 

Because it never failed to prompt Vila's recalcitrant memory. After the many times he'd bragged about being impervious to the Federation's various mind-altering techniques, he found it rather disconcerting to remember all the little details of his childhood. A very different version of his childhood from the memories planted by Federation manipulators.

 

After over a year of life aboard the Liberator, Vila found that he was remembering more and more of his childhood friends. He would have preferred to remain in ignorance. Particularly considering the intimate details of Blake and Avon's pasts his memory had dredged up. It had become very difficult indeed, to face the two men, knowing that one of them remembered but never sure which one it was.

 

He needed to talk to someone. Realizing that this need could not be fulfilled under the present circumstances, Vila sought refuge from his memories in a bottle.

 

And he hoped.

 

He hoped that it was Blake, not Avon, who remembered. He hoped that their association would have a happy ending this time. He hoped that they would survive.

 

And, more than anything else, he hoped to be reunited with his old friends, Roj and Kerr.


	3. part 3 Allegiance

**Notes** : originally published in THE BIG B7 ZINE (1993)

 

 

* * * * * * * 

"The Commander will see you now."

 

Travis gave a crisp nod to the clerk, and entered the new Squad Commander's office. He'd not met this officer yet, and couldn't help being a bit nervous.

 

"Trooper Travis reporting as ordered, ma'am," he said, executing a by-the-book salute.

 

Sharp brown eyes turned upon him. "Remove your helmet, Trooper." She watched closely, seeming to measure him. He hoped he wasn't found wanting.

 

"Better." She rose from her seat behind the desk, and moved to a spot in front of him. "It has come to my attention that you have certain...information." Travis swallowed nervously. "Information which may be of use to me, with regard to an assignment I have been recently awarded. Your section leader, Denys, has said that you know of a rebel gathering to be held soon."

 

"Yes ma'am. Two days from now at...."

 

Impatiently, she cut off his words, "All I require from you, Trooper, is a simple yes or no answer. Understood?"

 

The icy voice sent a shiver up Travis' spine. This woman would be an extremely dangerous adversary. He had no intention of arousing her ire. "Yes, ma'am," he answered.

 

"Good, Trooper. Very good." The voice dropped in pitch, caressing him in an almost obscene way. "You may stand at ease."

 

He did as ordered, patiently waiting the next inquiry.

 

"I wish to surprise these rebels with a Federation presence. You know the necessary details to accomplish this?" Again the sharp eyes stabbed him.

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

"Tell me, Trooper, do you know how to follow orders?" Abruptly, she held up an elegant hand, forestalling his answer. "Of course you do. What is your name, Trooper?"

 

"Travis, Ma'am."

 

"Very well then, Travis. I have an assignment for you. How well you follow my instructions will either make your career, or end it. Do I make myself clear?"

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

"You, and a small detachment of troopers, will disrupt this gathering." She stepped so close to him, that he could smell the heavy perfume she wore. Staring intently into his eyes, she continued, "You will be armed. They will resist, so you will be forced to subdue them."

 

"Yes, ma'am." He wondered if he'd ever say anything further to this woman. Covertly, he eyed her; no doubt, this was a gorgeous creature.

 

"Do you understand my orders, Travis?"

 

"Yes ma'am, I do."

 

"Very well, you are dismissed." She resumed her seat behind the desk, and activated her view monitor.

 

As he turned to withdraw, she spoke once more. "Travis, one more thing.... It is a tragedy, but there will be no survivors."

 

Surprised, he met her eyes. His stomach tightened in response to the malevolence revealed there. "Understood, Squad Commander."

 

With another perfectly regulation salute, he left the office. As the door closed behind him, the newly promoted Commander Servalan smiled to herself. With this trooper's help, she would bring herself to the attention of Space Command.

 

And then she'd be one step closer to the presidency.


	4. part 4  Exile

**Notes** : originally published in WHOMSOEVER HOLDS THIS SWORD (1992)

 

 

* * * * * * * 

Tarrant sighed, yet again, with boredom. Avon and his bright ideas. It wasn't bad enough to be stuck on this planet. Oh no. Who had the bastard sent with him on this supply run? Vila. Dammit all, anyway. Avon knew that the thief drove Tarrant crazy; yet, he'd set them down on Jahas, arrogantly announcing that he'd return for them in three days. They'd gathered all of the required supplies in a single day. All that was left to do was wait.

 

He did have to admit that the small rebel base was a pleasant, if dull, spot. Few people manned it, a large group having left for some unspecified mission before his and Vila's arrival. Oh well, at least he wouldn't have to constantly look over his shoulder while waiting Avon's return.

 

With nothing else to do, Tarrant crossed the small rec room to the cabinet he knew held a bottle of vodka. Vila had found a kindred soul here on the base. He and his new-found friend had started drinking last evening; they showed no signs of returning to sobriety in the near future. Drink in hand, Tarrant returned to the comfortable sofa. Perhaps, just this once, Vila had the right idea.

 

Several drinks later, Tarrant was enveloped in a warm glow. The vodka had induced a general feeling of well being in him. He shifted to an even more comfortable position, sinking back into the soft cushions and propping his feet up on the small table before him. He'd almost drifted off to sleep, when the unmistakable feeling of being watched came over him. He looked toward the door, and saw a large man smiling easily at him.

 

"Hullo," a warm baritone greeted him. "Mind if I join you?"

 

Tarrant made a valiant effort to sit up. "No, of course I don't mind." Giving up the struggle, he settled back and gestured to a seat on the sofa. "Grab a drink and join me; I could use the company."

 

With surprising grace for such a large man, the stranger crossed the room and mixed himself a drink. As he strode over to join Tarrant on the couch, the younger man studied him covertly. Here, he thought, was a man of unlimited confidence--a man who knew what he wanted. He would, Tarrant guessed, do whatever necessary to accomplish his goals.

 

Once settled on the sofa, the stranger turned to Tarrant. "I'm Chevron."

 

Vague recognition nudged at Tarrant's conscious. He frowned in thought...where had he heard that name? His alcohol-soaked brain, however, couldn't quite isolate the elusive memory. Casually he shrugged, it would come to him sooner or later.

 

"Tarrant," he responded, "good to meet you." Rather surprisingly, Chevron dropped his hand as if burned.

 

"Tarrant?" the big man repeated, his tone one of barely concealed animosity. "Any relation to Dev Tarrant?"

 

The pilot grimaced. "My uncle."

 

"I take it you aren't fond of your uncle."

 

Tarrant hesitated; this was not a subject he spoke of often. Something about this Chevron prompted him to open up, allow himself to remember.

 

"He sponsored me when I applied to the Space Academy. I was accepted with no problem." He glanced over at Chevron's intent expression. The rebel listened closely. "I trained as a pilot, did very well too," he couldn't help bragging. "I heard nothing of Dev until my promotion to Space Captain came through." He looked down at his hands, twisting nervously together.

 

"Why am I discussing this with you? I never talk about Dev...I don't even think about him." His tone was one of defiance and confused pleading in equal parts. "What is it about you?" he mumbled.

 

Chevron shifted forward a bit. "Tarrant." He paused, scowling. "What is your other name?"

 

"Del."

 

"Fine, I'd prefer to call you Del, if you don't mind. Your uncle betrayed me once." Tarrant shivered at the malevolence revealed in the brown eyes. "Some day, I will repay him."

 

"He planned to betray me, also--to have me programmed. I never heard the particulars; I didn't need to. My lover worked with Dev in the anti-subversive section of intelligence. I was given enough warning to avoid his plans for me." Head lowered to hide the pain in his eyes, Tarrant missed the sympathy revealed for a brief moment on Chevron's face.

 

He looked up when the couch shifted. Chevron rose, holding his now-empty glass. "Refill?" he questioned.

 

Not waiting for a response, he grasped Tarrant's glass and crossed to the cabinet. He paused there a moment, then lifted the bottle and returned with it to the sofa.

 

"Why waste time walking all the way over there? I, for one, don't intend to be capable of walking for much longer." With an engaging smile, the large man poured two healthy drinks, handing one to Tarrant. "Now, you were telling me about your uncle."

 

"Yes, so I was," Tarrant downed a healthy gulp of his vodka. "When I found out what Dev had planned for me, I decided to leave. To tell the truth, I'd never been all that happy with the Federation's policies. The Andromedan invasion provided the opportunity I'd been looking for." With a self deprecating shrug he continued, "First chance I got, I deserted my command. Now I'm a rebel. I guess."

 

"How did you end up with the resistance?"

 

"Pure chance. I found a deserted ship. When the crew turned up... Well, staying seemed the best alternative." He drained his glass and leaned forward, reaching out for the bottle.

 

"Refill?" Turning to Chevron, he waited for an answer. Noticing that the piercing gaze was locked on his wrist, he followed the concentrated stare; and saw that his sleeve had been pushed back, revealing the teleport bracelet.

 

"You," he could barely hear the whispered words, "you're from the Liberator." Deep shock vibrated in the husky voice.

 

Tarrant shifted uncomfortably. There was more here than met the eye. "What," he prevaricated, "makes you say that?"

 

"I'm quite familiar with the Liberator. Your bracelet gives you away."

 

"Familiar?" Tarrant repeated. Staring blankly ahead, his mind raced. This man knew about the teleport bracelets. Chevron. That name. Where had he heard that name?

 

Of course. Avon had used it when they'd first met. Who else would use Avon's alias except--"Blake!" he gasped in shocked realization. "You're Blake. I, that is, we thought you must be dead. Vila said that the only way you'd leave Av--" he cleared his throat, "the Liberator would be if you were dead, or in prison. And we'd have heard about it if you were caught." He met Blake's eyes. Caught his breath at the naked pain revealed.

 

The other man sighed, closing his eyes. "Yes, Del, I am Roj Blake. As to my reasons for leaving," lifting a hand, Blake pinched the bridge of his nose, effectively hiding his face, "it's a personal thing. Between Avon and me."

 

"Blake!" Both men turned to the doorway at the stunned gasp.

 

White with shock, Vila stood rooted in position, staring at Blake as if he beheld a ghost.

 

"Hello, Vila." Blake rose and crossed to the door, placing an arm across Vila's shoulders. "Come, sit down, you look a little shaky."

 

Vila allowed himself to be led to the couch and seated. Throughout the operation, he never took his eyes off of Blake. Tarrant could see that the thief fully expected Blake to disappear any moment. He wondered what it was about this man that engendered such desperate devotion from Vila.

 

Tarrant had quickly realized that Vila was playing a role; that he was, in his own way, far more brave, and intelligent, than he wished to appear. Judging by the expression on Blake's face, he understood the thief well, and obviously cared deeply for him.

 

Curiously, he studied the two men. Vila had started to quietly cry, as he lay against Blake's chest. Gently, the rebel soothed him, using hands and voice until, it appeared, Vila slept.

 

Noticing Tarrant's intent stare, Blake smiled ruefully. "Well, I'm glad to see that some things don't change. Vila always has been over emotional."

 

"He has?" Tarrant's eyebrows rose skeptically. "Funny, I never noticed that. Actually, I always thought that he was the most controlled of us all. Oh, I know he acts the foolish coward. Underneath though," he paused, frowning in thought, "I don't know who he is, or where he's from; I do know that Vila is no Delta grade. He's not a coward either, no matter how he tries to convince us otherwise."

 

"Well now, it would appear that you know him better than most." Blake said. "Don't let him hear you say any of this; he would be highly insulted. He thinks he has the whole galaxy fooled. Kindest to leave him his illusions."

 

Noting Blake's eyes, fixed longingly on the vodka bottle, Tarrant leaned forward and grabbed it. "Ready?" he asked.

 

"Mmm hmm." Blake nodded his gratitude.

 

The two sat in companionable silence, sipping their drinks. A distressed moan from Vila caught their attention; both watched him.

 

"Roj?" Tarrant almost missed the nearly inaudible murmur, but Blake tilted his head toward Vila, listening closely.

 

"Roj!" With a gasp, Vila jerked awake. Wildly he stared at Blake, clutching the larger man's arm desperately. "Roj! We have to stop him. We have to do something."

 

"Shhh. Vila, calm down." Grasping Vila's shoulders, Blake pushed him back against the couch. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

 

"It's Kerr," Vila moaned, obviously still distressed. "He wants us to go to Earth."

 

"Earth?" Blake repeated. "Why?"

 

"Anna." The reply was a soft whisper.

 

"She's dead, Vila. You know that. You've been dreaming."

 

"No, Roj. Not a dream." Earnestly, he spoke, "He's after Shrinker."

 

"Who?" Tarrant asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

 

"Shit!" Vila turned, apparently noticing the pilot's presence for the first time. "What are you doing here? Oh Gods, I'm a dead man...When Avon finds out what I've said--in front of you--ooooh, he's gonna kill me."

 

"Hush, Vila. I'm sure Tarrant won't say anything. Right, Del?" Pointedly, Blake waited for confirmation.

 

"He's right. I'll keep this conversation to myself. Vila," Tarrant sought to reassure, "it's okay. I just want to understand."

 

"Understand? Understand what? Avon? No one understands Avon...except Blake," he said, turning to face the rebel. "You are coming back, aren't you? We need you. Avon needs you!"

 

Abruptly, Blake rose to his feet, albeit a trifle unsteadily.

 

"Vila," with a sigh, Blake ran a hand through tangled curls, "you know I can't come back yet." He turned, hand raised to forestall Vila's protest. "Not until he realizes that he needs me. Nothing has changed. If I come back now, the same things will happen again." Restlessly, Blake paced a few steps in either direction. "I know he's looked for me, but not hard enough. When he's ready, he'll know where to find me."

 

"And when will that be?" Tarrant blushed when both men turned to stare at him. "Well," he couldn't help the defensive tone, "obviously we do need Blake."

 

"Not yet, Del. Avon has some things to work out first. He must understand that his battle is with himself. Not me, not the Federation. Himself. Until that happens, I'll stay away. So," he concluded, "you two will have to help me until I can return to Liberator. You will watch him...help in any way you can. Most important, make him think about what he plans to do. Look for any flaws, state them loudly. The way he always did for me." Blake stood for a moment, staring at the wall. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes, then moved toward the doorway, "I'll be right back. Nature calls, I'm sure you'll understand."

 

Left alone with Vila, Tarrant studied him curiously. The thief had revealed more of himself tonight than ever before, at least in Tarrant's experience. He wondered if this might be an opportune moment to question Vila. He shrugged to himself, nothing ventured and all that.

 

"Vila, how long have you known Avon?"

 

"I know what you're up to, Tarrant; don't think I don't." He said. "You think that just because I'm a little, ahem, under the weather, I'll spill all Avon's secrets."

 

"Oh, never mind. I should have known better." Disheartened, Tarrant slumped back against the couch. "I wish someone could tell me why I always seem to be on the outside, looking in."

 

"What are talking about, Tarrant?"

 

"It's just that, I never seem to be a part of the group. No matter where I am...school, the Academy, Space Command...home. I never quite belong." Closing his eyes, Tarrant rested his head against the cushion behind him. "Now, I don't even fit in with the group on Liberator. A thief, an embezzler, an alien and a kid. And I'm the odd one out? I just don't get it."

 

Soft brown eyes regarded him quizzically for a moment, then Vila released a sigh. "I know I'll regret this but...Avon, Cally and I were with Blake for two years. We had a good group, now we've lost three of our original crew. It's not easy for any of us, learning to work with new people, learning to trust each other. Give it more time, you're not the only one having trouble adjusting." Vila grinned engagingly at the younger man, "You're a natural misfit, Tarrant. You'll fit in before long, same as the rest of us."

 

Vila lifted Blake's half-empty glass, and drained it in one gulp. "Not bad. Here, kid, top it off, wouldja?"

 

Tarrant paused, holding the bottle aloft. "What did you call me?"

 

"Eh? I called you 'kid'. Why, is that a problem?"

 

"No, I guess not. My brother used to call me kid, that's all," said Tarrant.

 

"Brother. Older brother?" When Tarrant nodded in response, Vila continued, eyes opened wide in exaggerated innocence, "Del Tarrant, from Earth, right?" He didn't wait for confirmation, seeming to know the answer. "And you have an older brother. Would his name be Deeta, perhaps?"

 

"How could you possibly know that, Vila?"

 

"Oh," Vila waggled his eyebrows, "I have all kinds of information stored away. You'd be surprised at some of the things I know." He winked at the amazed pilot. "Don't just sit there holding that vodka, pour us a round."

 

The pilot did as requested, then absently refilled his own glass.

 

"There's a good man." Vila sat back and propped his feet up on the table, next to Tarrant's. "Now, sit back my boy, and let me tell you a story." He savoured a mouthful of the vodka, then set his glass on the table. "Once upon a time there were two little Alpha grade boys, named Roj and Vila. One fine day, they met another boy. Now this boy, Kerr, was special, he was an Elite, you see. Elite class families keep to themselves, no mingling with the lower grades. Never the less, the three boys became best friends--wherever one was, the other two would surely follow. They played together, discovered all the secret places in the dome together, went to school together, and studied together. Of course," Vila whispered, as if imparting a great secret, "Kerr was the smartest of the three, so he usually helped Roj and Vila...especially in comp sciences.

 

"So, the three boys grew up. They had many adventures. Got in trouble quite often, too. You see, they were the best and the brightest of their age group, so they felt they had to set a standard that the next group would have no chance of meeting. I'd wager that stories of the three still abound in educational circles. Child Psychology circles, too.

 

"Now, don't make the mistake of thinking these boys were just your average run-of-the-mill playmates.... Oh no, as I said, they were friends. Best friends. When one of them had a problem, they all had a problem. When Vila's pet rabbit died, all three attended the funeral. When Kerr's brother died, Roj and Vila were there for him. When Roj's sister and cousin left home to attend the Academy, all three boys waved them off. And all three boys wasted the rest of that day watching Roj's nasty little two year old cousin, Del. Horrible experience it was, let me tell you. If I never hear a whiny kid's voice screech the name 'Deeta' again, it will be too soon." Quite obviously pleased with himself, Vila sipped his vodka and watched Tarrant. "Better get that chin off the ground, Blake might fall over it when he gets back."

 

"You're drunk. And, you're nuts," said Tarrant, staring at Vila, goggle-eyed. "Just how much have you had to drink?"

 

"Not enough," said Blake. "Never enough, eh, Vila?"

 

"Blake!" Nervously, Vila attempted to rise. In his haste, he tripped, landing face down at Blake's feet.

 

Resignedly, Blake helped the thief up, dusted him of f and returned him to the couch. "So, my friend...telling stories, are we?" Fists on hips, the rebel loomed over Vila, glaring menacingly. "Lucky for you, Del here already promised to keep this to himself. If Avon ever caught you talking about our childhood, he'd strangle you--very slowly."

 

"Aw, Blake, I was just rambling on. You know how it is...." weakly, Vila trailed off.

 

"Yes, Vila. Unfortunately, I do know how it is."

 

"Excuse me." Hesitantly, Tarrant interrupted. "I'm a little confused. Blake, are you really..."

 

"Your cousin?" Smiling, Blake turned toward Tarrant. "So it would seem, Del. I'm afraid that I don't remember those days as well as Vila here. The Federation wiped my memory when I was 20. Some things have come back to me, but not everything. I think we are safe in believing Vila, though. He has an incredible memory, much to my chagrin sometimes."

 

"Don't you remember anything?" asked Tarrant.

 

"Bits and pieces." Blake smiled ruefully. "My heart remembers. The mind is a different matter. For the most part, my memories consist of images. I can see Vila's mother taking a picture of us, the day we graduated to the Academy; and, I see Vila and me standing on the auditorium stage, holding our academic awards, watching Kerr climb the steps to join us." He paused to pour himself a drink, then joined Tarrant and Vila on the couch. "It gets so frustrating, not knowing my own past. If Vila hadn't shown me a holo of the three of us as boys, I probably still wouldn't be aware of our common past. What else have I lost, I wonder. Often, I'll have a mental picture of a person, or place and not know who, or what, I'm seeing. Was this person important to me? When was I there? There's so much I've lost forever. Of course, on the positive side, I treasure the few memories I do have, I'm always aware of the value of any tie to my past."

 

"Does that mean you'll expect me to value Tarrant now?" An exaggerated expression of horror crossed Vila's face.

 

Blake glanced at Vila fondly. Tarrant, watching the exchange, envied the closeness between the two men. An unspoken understanding unlike any he'd ever known. Always, he'd wished that he and Deeta were closer; circumstances, however, had precluded this. His brother had left for Academy training when he'd been two. Other than holidays, and one brief summer, Deeta had been offworld. First, had been a series of military posts. Then, Deeta had simply disappeared; letters ceased, all contact abruptly halted when Del was twelve. He'd not heard anything of, or from, Deeta since.

 

"Hey, Tarrant!" Startled, he looked up when Vila yelled. Surprisingly, the thief's face bore a concerned expression. "You ignoring us on purpose? You sleeping with your eyes open, maybe? Don't you think he's a little young for senility to be setting in, Blake?" Gently Vila teased, giving Tarrant a much needed chance to regroup.

 

"Sorry, I was thinking about my brother. He's been gone for a long time, about ten or eleven years, I think."

 

"Gone?" Asked Blake. "Where?"

 

Tarrant shrugged, "I have no idea. Haven't heard a word since he mustered out of the service."

 

"Odd," said Blake.

 

"Not really. Deeta was never one for sentiment. Always very independent, sort of a loner. Not that we were all that close. He's so much older than I. Your age I think, Vila."

 

"What? Did you hear that, Blake? He thinks we're old. Can you imagine? Young whippersnapper." Scornfully, Vila turned from Tarrant, presenting his back. "Hmph. Call me old, willya?" From his position, Tarrant was unable to see Vila wink at Blake. "Roj, I think you'd better set him straight. After all, you are two years older than I am. Defend us!"

 

"Now Vila," Blake started, "you remember being this young, don't you?" He smiled, remembering. "The arrogance, the absolute belief in your own infallibility. Don't rush him into maturity, Vila. Let Del enjoy it while it lasts, the end of innocence will come all too soon."

 

Vila sat back, lips pursed, and made a very rude noise. "Blake, Blake, Blake." The thief shook his head despairingly, "I worry about you, I really do. Here, I'm trying to lighten things up a bit; and you're going on about 'the end of innocence'." Again, Vila expressed his opinion with another, louder, more prolonged, noise--Tarrant vaguely recalled such a sound being referred to as a "raspberry."

 

"Vila, I am quite sincere in what I say." Straightening in his seat, Blake attempted to regain his dignity.

 

"Sincere. Hah! You are always sincere, Blake. Lighten up, man." Suspiciously, Vila scanned the room, "Tarrant, are you sure Avon didn't follow us down? Is he hiding somewhere?"

 

"Vila," rumbled Blake, warningly.

 

"Oh, hush up. He's not here. Relax. That's your problem, you know? You never relax, you're always worried about one thing or another, always have been. C'mon, it's just the three of us. You know you can trust me, and Tarrant, well I know he's not much, but he's not a bad sort. I guess." Vila winked again, but at Tarrant this time. "He's been on Liberator for almost a year now, and he and Avon are both still alive. That should tell you something."

 

Unsteadily, the thief rose to his feet and navigated a path across to the cabinet in which Tarrant had found the vodka. Triumphantly, he grabbed an unopened bottle of the same liquor, and made his way back to the sofa. "Here we go, boys." With a flourish, Vila poured Blake and Tarrant each a drink, then lifted the bottle to his lips. "Cheers!" he said, as he gulped down several large swallows. He then set the bottle down on the table, leaned against Blake, and passed out cold.

 

"So, even Vila has a limit; will wonders never cease?" More than a little amused at the thief's antics, Tarrant chuckled. "For all the talking he does about drinking, this is the first time I've seen him over-indulge."

 

Blake nodded, "Yes, he does talk a good game. Always did, as I recall." Carefully, he shifted the limp body resting against him into a more comfortable position. "Tell me, Del; how are they?"

 

"You mean Vila and Avon?" Not waiting for an answer, Tarrant continued, "Avon is a mystery to me. He seems to be all right--if being arrogant and insulting and singularly isolated are normal for him," he said.

 

Blake gave a noncommittal nod. "And Vila?"

 

"If you'd asked me that two hours ago, I'd have said he's fine. Now, I'm not so sure." Tarrant gave the thief in question a considering look. He's worried. And he's lonely. That's how he is."

 

"Explain," Blake tersely requested.

 

Tarrant took a drink, trying to decide what to say. How to explain his conclusion. "I'm not sure I can. Avon spends most of his time looking for you. Vila spends his time looking after Avon. Cally watches them both."

 

"And you?" asked Blake.

 

"I'm..." He paused, unsure how to respond. Why he should be the object of Blake's concern was a mystery. Perhaps this was an example of 'Blake's great bleeding heart', as Avon had once said. "Actually, I'm okay. I like the Liberator, and the people on her, pretty well. After tonight, I think I'll feel a little more at home there. Thanks to Vila, and you."

 

"Then you'll be staying with Avon?"

 

"Yes, I expect I will."

 

"Good." Blake nodded approvingly. "Be careful when you go back. Avon is very discerning; if your attitude towards Vila changes, he'll want to know the reason why. I don't want him upset with Vila, or with you. When I return, I'll expect to see all of you."

 

"Will you? Return, I mean?"

 

"Oh, yes." Blake flashed a brilliant smile. "I'll be back. In that you can believe."

 

Tarrant couldn't help feeling oddly comforted by Blake's words. Emboldened by the vodka he'd consumed, he asked the question he'd been considering. "What happened? With Avon? You don't seem the type of man to run from a problem. Even an 'Avon problem'."

 

Blake sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, effectively hiding his face for a moment. When the hand lowered, Tarrant noticed a suspicious brightness in the brown eyes. "Avon has certain problems with regard to personal relationships. He has loved very few people in his life. All of them have died...unpleasantly. His brother committed suicide, Anna was killed during interrogation. His parents...well, they are not pleasant people. When we were younger, he loved Vila and myself, as we loved him. After my first arrest, both of them were taken into custody and puppeteers erased, or in Vila's case tried to erase, all memory of our friendship. At any rate, I made the mistake of allowing Avon to see how I cared for him. He couldn't handle that. Neither could he face the way he feels about me. I'm hoping that my absence will give him a chance to realize that, like it or not, we do care for each other. I want him to understand that he can be loved...that he is worthy of love. Most important, he must know that his loving me will not go away simply because he chooses to deny it." Wearily, Blake rested his head on the back of the couch. "I'm tired though, Tarrant. Hopefully, it won't take much longer."

 

"Yes." Speaking softly, he watched the rebel's breaths become deeper, more regular, as he fell asleep. "Soon, Avon will find you. You'll come back to Liberator, and we'll fight the rebellion together."

 

Quietly, Tarrant rose. In a storage cubicle he located a blanket. Moving carefully, he covered Blake and Vila with it. He started out of the room, intending to retire to his temporary quarters. At the doorway he paused. Looked once more at the sleeping men.

 

"Ah hell. I'm drunk, right?" he asked himself. With a self-deprecating shrug, he crossed back to the couch and sat. "Yeah, far too drunk to walk back to my bed." So saying, he leaned back to a more comfortable position, and lifted a corner of the blanket to cover himself.

 

"That's right, Tarrant." He felt Vila's arm come about him, pulling him down to rest on the thief's shoulder. "Far too drunk. Now, hush up and go to sleep."


	5. part 5  Reasons

**Notes** : originally published in THE BIG B7 ZINE (1993)

 

 

* * * * * * *

Reluctantly, he reached out and depressed the activator panel of the audio-disc playback. He couldn't put it off any longer. The damned disc had been sitting there, mocking his reluctance...his fear, for two days now. Silence, at first, then the unmistakable sound of a throat being nervously cleared. A painfully familiar voice spoke:

 

"I'm not sure if Max will be able to get this disc to you, but I had to try. If anyone can reach you, Max is the man. And if Max has to get this tape to you, well--I've been killed. As soon as I heard you were on the Liberator, I wanted to get in touch--tell you why I left, all those years ago. Why I never contacted you. I'm making this recording as a back-up, in case I can't get in touch with you before she finds me. Who is 'She'? It's a long story, but an interesting one.

 

"Before I get into all that, I want you to know that I loved you. Always. You were special to me, kid...Please believe that, if nothing else. More times than I could count, I wanted to come take you from them--our parents, I mean. And the Federation. Before they could kill your independent spirit--like they almost did to me. Most of all, I wanted to keep you out of the military. Save you the gradual death of self that follows indoctrination.

 

"Ah well, I'm rambling. Enough of that--I want to tell you about the last 'military action' I was involved with, before leaving the service.

 

"It was on Earth. Late spring, in the Europa Dome. My new section leader, Travis, (strangely enough, Leader Denys had gone AWOL the night before) chose five men to accompany him on a 'very important' job. We were to interrupt a meeting of dissidents and arrest them--the usual. We were 'interrupting' a lot of rebel meetings at the time; it had become a routine operation.

 

"So anyway, we gathered at the designated time and place. Travis checked each of our sidearms--individually, mind you--assuring himself they were all set in 'kill' mode. It seemed a bit unusual, we generally had our weapons set in 'stun' mode for this type of operation. Oh, hell...hindsight, and all that shit. Like the obedient little trooper I was, I followed orders. The meeting place was an empty storage area in the lower levels. And I mean empty--no rebels--no one at all. Travis didn't blink an eye; he looked quite pleased with himself, actually. We were told to hide, wait for his signal. And then...then he warned us that these rebels we were here to arrest were armed...and dangerous." A derisive snort interrupted the narrative for just a second, then the voice continued: "Armed and dangerous?? Never. Not a chance, Del. I'd seen these groups before, been on these raids many times. Do you know what we'd find? Teachers, librarians, students--you know the type, none of them would know one end of a gun from the other. Never armed, certainly never dangerous.

 

"But, I did it." The voice was almost inaudible. Shame was a palpable vibration in the room. "I hid, I waited. And they came in. One at a time, two at a time, they trailed in--until there were seventeen people there. They were young, mostly university age. Then...the first man who'd arrived stood up and started speaking. You should have heard him, kid. Voice as smooth as aged brandy-- and could he talk! I was ready to join the resistance there and then. I believed every word he said. It was incredible.

 

"You want to hear the funny part? I knew him. It was our cousin, Roj Blake. He was so amazing, so mesmerizing, that I didn't even recognize him at first. And then...." the voice paused, faint but identifiable, came the sounds of a body shifting, seeking a more comfortable position in its seat. "Travis gave the signal, everyone came out of hiding with weapons drawn--everyone except me. I couldn't move...I lay in the air duct, and watched.

 

"The 'rebels' stood there, frozen with fear. Blake stepped forward and offered their surrender. He told Travis they'd give in peacefully. And that son-of-a-bitch Travis--he opened fire. He just started mowing them down. Oh gods, it was so awful." A muffled sob, then the sound of deep breaths being drawn. Control being gathered. "Blake got hold of a weapon, I dunno--he must have knocked out one of the troopers to get it, and he started begging Travis to stop. 'We surrender! Please stop! Von, it's me...Roj. You're killing us. Stop, please stop.' The desperation in that voice...I wanted to cry. In fact...I was crying at this point.

 

"Travis never hesitated; he just kept killing them. So, Blake shot him. I thought he'd killed the bastard. Then Blake went down. I never even saw who had shot him." The voice shook with remembered horror. "They all lay there--bodies everywhere, and the blood, the whole room was red with it. I still have nightmares about that room. The three troopers were the only ones standing; they just stared at the carnage for what seemed to be forever.

 

"Then she walked in. That cold-hearted bitch, I'm sure you've heard of her...Servalan." The words dripped with venom. "She actually smiled when she saw what had happened. Cool as ice, she started giving orders to her aide. Blake to be wiped--completely. Travis to surgery--with a psychostrategist standing by to 'adjust' his memories, just in case he survived. She told her aide to see to it that all of Blake's family and friends were detained. Told him to be sure all memory of Roj Blake be taken from them. She said, and I quote: 'I will kill him without spilling a drop of his blood. Blake will cease to exist.' And she laughed.

 

"I tell you kid, I saw my own death in that woman's eyes. There I was, twenty-three years old, trooper grade C, two days of active service left. And I knew she would have me killed too, if she found out I'd been in that room. What could I do? I laid low for two of the longest days I'd ever endured...and then I ran. As far, and as fast as possible. Eventually, she found out; I've no idea how. One day I came back to a room I'd been renting on some godforsaken planet and found Travis waiting for me. Do you know, I don't believe he had any idea why she wanted me. He certainly didn't seem to know me, not personally anyway. I got away-- that time and many other times. The odds are against me, kid, sooner or later she'll get me. I only hope I get a chance to pay her back for all she's done to me--and to you, to Blake, to so many, I couldn't possibly name them all."

 

Again, there was a short pause, then a heavy sigh. "I sincerely hope you never hear this recording. But if you do, please Del, never forget who caused my death. And if you get the chance...give her my regards. I know you can do it.

 

"So, this must be goodbye. Not something I've ever been comfortable with. Remember this, little brother, I love you.... No matter how it may have appeared, I always did."

 

This time, the silence was permanent. Deeta had ended the tape with that simple farewell. Tarrant wiped the tears from his face and rose stiffly from his seat. Holding the audio-disc, he crossed to his wardrobe. He opened the hidden panel behind his clothes and reached to place the disc within. After a short pause he closed the panel and put the disc in his tunic pocket; he left his cabin, headed for the flightdeck. It was his watch.

 

And he had a few things to discuss with Orac.


	6. part 6  Homecoming

**Notes** : originally published in GAMBIT #5 (1989)

 

 

* * * * * * *

Newly graduated Cadet Travis stepped from the compound where he'd just spent two years of life learning to be a soldier. A two-week pass was tucked safely away in his pocket. He stood at the gate for a while, watching the other graduates leave in small groups. Most had made plans to spend their leave together, but Travis hadn't been invited by anyone. That didn't really bother him; as the only Delta in the mostly Alpha class, he was used to being snubbed.

 

Travis decided the first thing he would do was get something to eat. Food at the Academy, while nourishing, had been very bland and unappetizing. He walked down the street and finally stopped at a little restaurant tucked away off the main thoroughfare. He sat at a table and glanced over the menu. Resisting the urge to order one of everything, he finally settled on a spicy dish. Thirty minutes and a full stomach later, he was walking aimlessly down the street again.

 

Since he didn't have any plans, he decided to go visit the Delta Section he'd grown up in. Maybe he could even find a few of his old friends and regale them with tales of his days at the Academy. He hopped on the nearest shuttle train and sat back, enjoying the ride. As they got closer and closer to the Delta domes, the train rapidly emptied. Soon he was the only one left in his car. As the shuttle pulled into the station, he stood and self-consciously straightened his uniform before disembarking.

 

As he stepped onto the street, he looked around, trying to get his bearings. The place had changed in the two years he'd been gone. It was even dirtier and more cluttered than before, though Travis wouldn't have thought that possible. He started towards his old neighborhood.

 

As he walked through the crowd, he couldn't help noticing all the stares being directed his way. It took him a while to realize it was because Federation personnel rarely visited the Delta area, unless it was to quell trouble. Travis hurried his pace a little.

 

Suddenly, he was bumped from behind. He felt something slip out of his pocket. Reaching back, he noticed his wallet was missing. He turned and saw a figure running through the crowd. "Hey! Stop!" he shouted, and started off in pursuit.

 

The man was dodging agilely through the streets, but Travis, being taller than most of the people, was able to keep him in sight. The person suddenly ducked into an alleyway, and Travis followed. He saw the young man stopped at the dead end. Travis approached him cautiously, then turned back at a noise. Five other men had come in behind him, closing off the exit out of the alley.

 

"Is this person bothering you?" one asked the pickpocket.

 

"Yes, he's been following me, and I don't like that." The five closed in on Travis, who was looking for something to use as a weapon. One of them pushed Travis, and he nearly fell.

 

"You're a little lost, aren't you, Alpha?" the one who'd pushed him sneered.

 

"Don't you know it's dangerous in the Delta domes?" asked another. "You could get hurt, even killed!" Another hand shoved Travis, and he stumbled against the wall, and stood with his back against it.

 

He held his temper in check. He knew he could easily defend himself, but he wasn't looking for trouble. "I'm not an Alpha," he said quietly. "I'm a Delta."

 

That stopped the antagonizers momentarily. "He's lying," said one. "Deltas don't get in the Academy."

 

"He sounds like a Delta," another said uncertainly. Suddenly the one who'd stolen the wallet pushed through the others to stand before Travis.

 

He stared at him, then said, "Travis? Is that you?"

 

Travis studied the thief intently, then exclaimed, "Garn!"

 

"Leave him alone," Garn ordered the others. "I know him."

 

Travis stared at his once best friend. "What are you doing, Garn? You're not a thief!"

 

Garn looked steadily at him. "Don't sound so surprised. What do you expect me to do? I have to eat."

 

"Why don't you get a job?"

 

Garn snorted. "Easier said than done. And even if I could, I still wouldn't have enough. I make more doing this."

 

"What happened to you?" Travis shook his head. "You don't have to live like this."

 

"What do you know?" Garn lashed out angrily. "You're wearing a fancy uniform; you've got plenty to eat and a place to sleep. How often have you been hungry? Cold?" Travis didn't answer. Garn looked away, disgusted. "You're just like the Alphas you hob-nob with now, aren't you? Better than everyone else."

 

"That's not true!" Travis protested. "I had to work hard for this. Believe me, the Alphas don't want to be around me. But I made it; you could, too."

 

Garn laughed sarcastically. "Forget it," he said. "You're just a freak, Travis. They'd never let any of us near enough to the Academy to even try to join. You just lucked out, or something. But don't pass judgment on me. I live the best way I can. And I'm still alive, so I must be doing all right." He pushed past Travis and started to leave, motioning for the others to follow.

 

"Wait!" Travis said in a hard voice, grabbing Garn's arm. "I want my wallet back." He and Garn stared at each other for a long moment, then Garn dropped the wallet at Travis' feet and left without another word.

 

Travis watched them go, then slowly bent down and retrieved his money. He stood in the alley, considering what Garn had said. Then he left, intending to catch a shuttle back to the Federation compound. All of a sudden, the thought of two weeks with nothing to do didn't appeal to him as much. Maybe he could find some work to do on base. He got on the train, and didn't look back as it slowly pulled out of the station.


End file.
